


spark into a flame

by runandgo



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: (kinda), Aftercare, Cunnilingus, Dom!Asra, Dom/sub, F/M, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Hair-pulling, M/M, Magic, Overstimulation, Sex Magic, Spanking, Temperature Play, Threesome - F/M/Other, Vaginal Fingering, sub!Julian, sub!apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runandgo/pseuds/runandgo
Summary: I tighten my grip, just for a second until my palms cool, and wait until his gaze returns to mine. “You’ll need to focus. You can’t get complacent. Magic has a way of surprising you, even when you think you’re used to it.”In which the Apprentice and Julian practice their fire magic, and are interrupted by a certain wandering magician.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra/Julian Devorak, Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Asra/Julian Devorak/Reader, Julian Devorak/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 187





	spark into a flame

**Author's Note:**

> this is... wow, one of the most self-indulgent things i've ever written. i sure hope it hits some buttons for the rest of you too!
> 
> takes place post-julian upright ending.
> 
> un-beta'd as usual, so any mistakes are entirely my own.

With a snap of my fingers, the flame of the candle in the lamp outside the shop goes out, smoke spiraling from the extinguished wick towards the darkening sky. Satisfied, I close the door behind me with a heavy thunk, and press my palm to the door. Under my fingers the grain of the wood glows white as I reactivate the cross-me-not spell. It’s familiar magic, and it springs to life readily, burning bright streaks in my vision before fading back to the normal color of weather-worn oak.

Next to me, there’s a soft clinking, and Julian turns the keys in their locks, doing his part to close the shop for the night. He finishes just as I turn the sign from “Open” to “Closed,” and we both slump against the wall, hands finding each other in the low glimmer of the glass-covered lanterns. It was a long day. For both of us. 

There’s some kind of flu going around in Vesuvia, thanks to the cooling weather, and for every fever-stricken, phlegm-filled patient Julian saw in his clinic, Asra and I had a family looking for protection charms, to ward the sickness away. No matter how many times we tried to tell them that it wasn’t like the Plague, it could be kept away with simple hygiene… well, sometimes people just want to _feel_ more safe, even if they’re not in any danger in the first place. We’d run out of ingredients, prompting a trip to the market, and then Asra had to run home to his parents’ house at the first glimmer of sunset to help them with some kind of problem with the rerouting of the canals, and there was a line out the door all day, only abating once the moon started to inexorably climb higher and higher in the sky. 

Finally, Julian breaks our weary silence. “I fear that my feet may _actually_ fall off.” 

My laugh is somewhat subdued, but still there. “Ugh. Me too. Upstairs?” 

“Upstairs we go,” he agrees, and we clamber up the staircase to emerge into our little apartment. 

I only notice my stomach growling once I catch sight of the parcels of food sitting on the kitchen counter; Julian ignores everything else and makes a beeline for the bed, flopping down, his legs hanging comically over the end. His moan is stifled by the bedsheets, and I pointedly ignore it as I paw through our groceries. “Come on, we have to have a little dinner before we take a nap.” 

“Why? We could eat at the Raven when we meet Pasha and Mazelinka later tonight.” Catlike, he inches upward so his body actually fits on the bed. 

“Because, remember? You said we could practice your magic tonight.” I walk over to the bed and perch on the edge, poking him gently on his shoulder. 

His face turns towards me, and he cracks open his good eye to stare me down. “Ah. I did say that, didn’t I.” 

I can tell he wants to renege on that promise. “ _Julian._ You won’t get better if I don’t teach you anything.” 

“Interesting thought. Counterpoint: I’m exhausted, and the bed is right here.” His hands find my waist and tug me back, urging me to lie against him. 

I let a small jolt of magic flow through my body and find our point of contact, just tickling, and he draws his hands back with a huffed-out laugh. “Unfair.” 

“You could learn...” I singsong, ducking out of the way and onto my feet as he attempts to pull me back for revenge. 

“Oh, fine.” Stretching, Julian gets up and cracks his neck loudly. I wince, and he laughs. “Standing all day will do that to you, darling.” 

“Come here.” Stepping into his space, I lay a hand flat on the small of his back, ignoring his ridiculous eyebrow wiggle. With significant enough concentration — I’m pretty drained after today — I bring heat to my palm, and watch as his expression changes from suggestive to rapturous. “See what you can do?” 

“Mm. Yes.” He smiles beatifically, my hand trailing up his spine now, loosening the tense muscles. “I wish I could return the favor.” 

I stop at the nape of his neck, bringing my skin back to a normal temperature. “I can teach you, if you want. It can be a first step towards healing magic.” We’ve mostly been working with fire and heat so far; it only made sense after what I taught him in the Tower. This isn’t too far off from that. 

“That... sounds useful.” 

“Well, no need to sound so surprised.” 

He rises, and walks towards the kitchen; in my peripheral vision, I can see him bend down by the stove and whisper something. The fire crackles to life not two seconds later. 

“The salamander adores you,” I smile. 

“I tend to have that effect.” He winks rakishly, then promptly drops the poker he’s holding. “Oh, damn.” 

Stifling a snort, I nod towards the stove. “C’mon, the sooner we do dinner, the sooner we can get to magic.” 

“And to a nap,” he sighs wistfully. “And the Rowdy Raven!” 

“Well, you need to eat to be able to dance on the table, huh?” 

“My dear, I love the way you think,” Julian grins. 

* * *

After our meal, I lead Julian back downstairs and towards the back room; he tenses, and I nudge him. “Don’t be nervous. You belong here too.” 

He relaxes, just a hair, but visibly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be used to that.” We make our way inside and settle in around the table. The thick velvet of the tablecloth is littered with scraps of paper, most with burn marks at their centers, and I brush them aside and onto the floor. 

“Do I need parchment? A quill?” Julian asks, turning in his seat. He’s jumping with nervous energy; I can feel it rolling off him. 

I shake my head and lay a hand on his wrist. “No. We’re going to do it without the paper again.” Last time we tried, he managed to start a fire without the help of the magic circle. Granted, it was in the middle of the table, but the sooty spot left behind was easy enough to cover up with a column candle. At least Asra hasn’t said anything about it. 

He looks uneasy, directionless, but nods, and turns his hand over so we’re properly joined. As soon as our other hands lock together, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath like I taught him, and reaches inside himself for his magic. In so little time he’s come so far; I used to have to jumpstart him with my own magic every time. Now, it flows to the tips of his fingers, emanating into the space between us. It’s warm and almost fizzy at the touch of my hand. 

I smile. “Good. Let’s start with something you already know. The sensation of fire, right? Light the candle.” 

“The heat, the flicker of the flame, the smell…” He breathes in again and knits his brows together; in a few seconds, a small flame jumps to life at the wick of the candle, then begins to merrily burn. 

Pride swells up inside me and I cheer, to Julian’s immense embarrassment. “Don’t go getting all worked up, it’s just a little candle,” he mutters, red splashed across his face. 

“Three months ago you would have needed a match,” I shrug. “ _You_ did this. That’s why I’m cheering.” 

If at all possible, he blushes even harder. “Well. Er… thank you.” 

I’m silent in response, but I tap his boot with mine under the table. “Now. You want to learn to change your own temperature, right? Like this?” Again, I let my magic coalesce under the skin in my hands, both of them this time, and feel them grow warm to the touch. 

“...Yes,” Julian replies hesitantly, looking only a breath away from yanking his hands away from mine. 

I tighten my grip, just for a second until my palms cool, and wait until his gaze returns to mine. “You’ll need to focus. You can’t get complacent. Magic has a way of surprising you, even when you think you’re used to it.” With a jerk of my head, a gust of wind twirls through the room, attacking the flame Julian started… but though it blows sideways and almost winks out, it returns to its regular position easily. My eyebrows raise. I wasn’t expecting that. 

“Impressed?” Julian smirks. “Am I… a bit nervous? Maybe, yes. But am I complacent? It takes a bit more than being comfortable for me to let my guard down, darling.” 

“I _am_ impressed,” I allow. “So I think you’re ready to learn how I do it.” 

The bravado drops away from his face again, replaced by concentration. He looks so cute when he’s doing magic. “How?” 

I close my eyes — it’s easier to describe through touch alone. Sight is only a distraction when you’re casting on yourself. “The feeling of the fire. We’ll need that memory.” 

In Julian’s hands, I can feel the power building, heat much too hot, magic much too bright, and I yank mine away just in time. The connection between us breaks as flame erupts from his palms, casting stark shadows onto the walls. He yelps and it stutters out, as quickly as it came. 

“You didn’t let me finish.” Only a little shaken, I take his hands again. “ _Just_ the warmth. Not the flame, the light, the smoke. But start small, okay? Just direct your magic to your hands. That’s the first step.” 

He worries his lip between his teeth and nods. In a second, I can feel his magic flow in our connection again, pooling at his palms, almost crossing the threshold into my body, but stopping short. “Like that, exactly.” Under the warm words, he flushes, and I have to bite back a laugh. Predictable. “ _Now_ the warmth. And, uh, maybe don’t think of a fire.” The last thing I want is another handful of flames. “Try... a warm cup of tea instead. The sensation of the mug warming your hand from the outside in… but reversed." 

Beneath my fingers, degree by degree, his palm is warming. My instinct is to whoop and holler, but instead I just smile encouragingly. “Yes! Julian, you’re doing it!” 

“I… I am,” he wonders, marveling still at his power even though I’ve shown him time and time again what he’s capable of. A laugh grows in his chest and bubbles out, but he’s careful to keep the temperature of his hands steady. 

Sitting here across from him, watching him like this, I feel like my heart could burst. I love everything about magic, but this? Seeing how it makes people feel, to know they hold their destinies in the palm of their hand, to know their only limit is their own confidence? To see the possibilities stretching out before them? This is my favorite part. 

It’s Julian who breaks our connection this time, and he turns to his side, positions a stool between his legs, and pats its well-worn seat. “Come here.” 

When I sit, he puts his hands on my shoulders, and it feels lovely on my aching back. “Wow. I’m… really glad I taught you this,” I sigh, leaning back against him, into his embrace. There’s no response except him bending down to kiss me, and gladly, I meet him, our lips brushing and then sealing together. 

After a few seconds, though, I have to break away at the flash of heat that scorches from his palms. “Ouch! Julian, too hot.” 

“Sorry.” Without even looking up at him, I can tell he’s smirking. “What can I say? You bring it out of me.” 

“You’re incorrigible,” I scoff, but make no move to get up. So we sit there, for far longer than we need to, the haze of magic around us and triumph written on both of our faces. 

I’ve nearly drifted off when suddenly, warm hands are trailing lower… and lower. Julian’s at my waist now, keeping up a gentle massaging motion, and even as he lets himself relax and the warmth leaches away from his skin, I can’t help but sigh. 

“Good, hm?” he asks, low. I can feel it rumbling in his chest, behind where my head sits. 

“ _Yes._ ” I turn around where I sit and Julian leans down, grabs me around the waist, and actually lifts me into his lap. It can’t be easy, but I’m more than happy to perch here, eye-level with him for once. Most of his height is in his legs. 

Walking my fingers along his jaw, I watch as he tilts his head back, exposing his throat. He’s shameless. I lean down and kiss him and feel his pulse jump beneath my lips, feel him breathe out my name. Then I kiss him for real, square on the mouth, revel in it as he kisses back with everything he’s got. It’s like tandem spellwork, kissing Julian, or at least that’s the closest I’ve been able to come up with. A complicated dance, each player doing their part, building something fragile and almost alive. 

We part for air, and his hands start to roam, one creeping up my leg, rucking up my skirt. “I can think of much better uses for this table than divination and hocus pocus,” he murmurs, breathless against the corner of my mouth. 

“Oh, can you?” I can’t help but tease him back, and I tighten my hand on the nape of his neck, dig my nails in a bit just to hear him groan. “Where do you want me? You have to tell me,” I whisper. 

“Anywhere.” His reply is immediate and desperate, as if he still thinks he might lose me. Realizing the same thing, he chuckles a little at himself and looks down. “But the table would be nice.” 

Laughing, I hop up onto the sturdy surface and carefully set the candle on a chair after blowing it out. Julian hovers above me, then bends at the waist to kiss me again, deeper now, settling in between my legs. The feeling in the room is just on the right edge of stifling, dancing with our body heat and the energy between us. I push his shirt off his shoulders and he’s quick to take his hands off me and rid himself of the garment, throwing it over his shoulder to a crumpled heap on the floor. “I’d like to be wearing fewer clothes,” I pant. 

The side of his mouth pulls up and he sinks to his knees, his fingers making quick work of the laces on my boots and then my stockings. Thank goodness I wore a skirt today. Into the pile with the shirt they go, and we resume our attachment, growing ever more careless, tongues and lips sliding, teeth nipping, everything good. 

In fact, we’re so caught up that we don’t notice the presence in the doorway until he clears his throat. 

With a start, Julian removes his arm from under my skirt and whirls towards the entrance, then colors brilliantly pink. “A-asra!” 

“Don’t stop on my account.” Asra’s amused, but his voice is heavy, and his eyes are half-lidded with unmistakable lust. A thrill races down my spine, sending my heart banging wildly in my chest. 

We’ve been building towards this for quite some time, us three. Though Asra’s moving out, in theory, he still spends most every day here, and I know that he and Julian have been talking about their shared past, working through the hurt that used to lie there. And every so often, I’ll catch them staring at each other when the other’s not looking. 

As for me, well, it’s no secret that Asra and I were an almost, a maybe, a half-formed idea of a relationship before the Masquerade and Lucio and everything else. He was the first one I wanted; not because of what he did for me, but because of _who he was_ and everything I saw in him. 

From his position poised above me, Julian swallows dryly. “I... are you sure?” 

A laugh, inscrutable as ever, is his answer, and Asra crosses the room in three paces till he’s standing by our side. “My selfless Ilya... my brave, clever [MC]. I’ve never been more sure of anything. But both of you.. are _you_ sure?” 

He called me _his._ I don’t even need to think about it; I trust Asra completely, and if possible I want him even more than that. “Yes,” I say emphatically, and Julian echoes me with just as much enthusiasm. 

We get a sultry grin in return, a classic Asra expression that now makes my stomach twist in excitement. One of his hands comes to rest just inside my knee, and the other slides into Julian’s hair and _pulls_. Julian provides no resistance, simply sagging back fully into a kneel and lolling his head into Asra’s grip. His expression is beatific. 

“Oh, Ilya. Always so good. I can only hope I’m better than the last time we did this.” A flicker of shame passes Asra’s eyes, gone as fasts as it came. 

For a second, the mood breaks, and Julian shakes Asra’s hand out of his hair with a frown. He stands, a full half-foot and change taller than Asra, and levels his gaze. “You are. I know you are. We talked about this, remember?” 

Asra rolls his shoulders like he’s shrugging off a cloak, and nods, then smiles at me and Julian in turn. “I’m sorry. I’m just... not used to getting what I want so easily.” 

“I know the feeling,” Julian agrees, and then in tandem, they both look at me, laid out still on the table, skirt half-up and half-down, hair a mess. 

Now I’m the one who violently blushes. “What?” 

Another laugh from Asra, pealing through the night air like wind chimes. “Nothing.” His arm comes and slides around my waist, pulling me gently upright — and then he kisses me. It’s almost an explosion. His magic thrums to life everywhere we touch, and his feelings pour into me, so much I can scarcely breathe. Longing, relief, and yes, desire, a low heat that mingles with mine and turns our kiss filthy in no time at all. 

I’m gasping for air when we pull apart, and Julian looks lustful and wary at the same time, like he can’t believe what he saw. Asra turns to me, his own face a mixture of delight and amusement. “Did you want to help me take care of Ilya? Or should I be in charge of the both of you today, hm?” His finger tilts my chin up towards his face. 

It’s a hard choice; I consider the options, weigh them equally in my mind. The thought of helping Asra with Julian is undeniably tempting, but at the prospect of his hands heavy on me, his voice commanding us, I shiver. “You can be in charge. If you think you can handle me.” I put on a smirk; Julian’s obviously not going to put up a fight and make this fun, so one of us might as well. 

Asra inhales sharply, mouth curling into that same smile I know so well. “Oh, I think I can more than hold my own.” He pulls me closer to the table’s edge in as quick a movement as I’ve ever seen him make, the tablecloth rumpling beneath me, and trails one hand from the side of my knee all the way up the inside of my leg until he finds his mark. I shudder and gasp, one hand flying up to go to the back of Asra’s neck — but he catches my wrist in his other hand, unhindered in his main focus, and pins it back to the surface of the tablecloth. Not hard, not painful, but the message is clear. “And don’t talk,” he says, “unless it’s to tell me to stop.” 

His fingers are alive with magic. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I nod, quickly, and I understand why Julian’s so desperate for him. 

Behind us there’s the sound of shifting fabric, and Asra stills, his fingers slowing. “Ilya.” The one word is all he needs to say; Julian freezes guiltily. “Don’t touch yourself.” 

“O-okay.” Julian bites his lip and leans back against the wall, gripping the windowsill with white-knuckled intensity. His bare chest heaves as he breathes, hard and fast. 

In front of me, Asra takes his fingers away and draws them up to his mouth, licks them slowly. I let out something perilously close to a whimper, and his eyes flit up to mine. “You taste... hm, wonderful.” He holds out his hand to Julian, whose eyes look about to pop out of their sockets. “Ilya?” 

“Oh, _yes,_ ” Julian breathes, and takes the fingers in his own mouth this time. 

If I were blushing any harder, I’m sure I’d turn red all the way to the roots of my hair. This? I don’t deserve this. 

“Knees,” Asra says lightly, and Julian drops like a stone to the floor. “Should I let you have her for a bit, hm?“ 

“Please, yes,” Julian says, the strain evident in his voice, his face upturned as Asra’s hand finds its place in his hair. 

“You don’t need to beg, Ilya, I’m not punishing you.” Asra bends down and presses a kiss to Julian’s lips, light and almost chaste. “You can go ahead, but neither of you are allowed to finish just yet. I’m not going to waste this time we have.” 

On his knees, Julian makes his way towards me and noses my legs apart. There’s hot breath on my thighs, and then his tongue is on me. He’s _good_ at this, always has been, and much as I try, I can’t hold back the sound that escapes me. He matches it with a moan in response, vibrating through me, and I arch into his touch. 

“You can pull his hair.” Asra’s voice is quiet but it cuts through the room’s heavy atmosphere. He’s paused halfway through undressing; his shirt is off, but he’s only just popped the button of his pants. “If you want something to do with your hands.” 

Tentatively, I dig one hand onto the mass of auburn curls before me, and Julian’s hand tightens where it sits on my leg. He increases his vigor tenfold, and I’m forced to throw my other arm over my mouth and sink my teeth into my wrist to stifle myself. For an indeterminable time, the rest of the world fades away, just me and Julian and the heat curling low in my belly. 

Asra’s finished divesting himself of his clothes and walks up to me, savoring the sight before him. “You’re both amazing,” he praises, and though I’ve always loved hearing him compliment me, it’s never thrilled me like it does now, as his fingers skate lightly across the taught lines of my throat and shoulders to start undoing my blouse. “Arms up,” he whispers, and without thinking I raise them, fabric sliding over my shoulders and air meeting my sweaty skin. 

“I want to try something. Ilya, don’t stop,” Asra says, and if Julian’s pace is any indication he had no intention of doing so anyway. Asra lays a hand on my heart, and I can feel myself break into goosebumps despite the heat of the room. A second later, his magic flows into me, so intense I can hardly focus. With a look of concentration, he manipulates it, makes it ebb throughout my body. It meets Julian’s mouth and builds in energy until I’m thrown suddenly over the edge, a burst of magic spreading out like a dying star, my vision temporarily obstructed by the lights that pop behind my eyes. 

Asra looks immensely pleased with himself as I pant my way down from the peak, but Julian’s still going like his life depends on it. It’s a little painful, though not too much, and I don’t want to waste my stamina; I try to inch away but Asra shakes his head, moves his hand to the small of my back to keep me in place. “No.” 

Gritting my teeth, I suck in a breath too fast, and in a flash Asra’s down beside me, tilting my face so we’re looking at each other. “Do you need to stop?” 

“No,” I manage, and it’s the truth. It hurts, but in a good way. My hips are bucking up a little with every stroke of Julian’s tongue, and he lays a pale hand on them, stilling me. 

“Good. You’re doing so well,” Asra murmurs, strokes my sweaty hair from my face almost soothingly. “I knew you would be so good.” 

Even through my hazy fog, I feel like I’m glowing at his words. My legs tighten involuntarily on Julian’s shoulders, forcing him closer. It’s sloppy, too much, but it’s good, and I cry out as I come again, oversensitive and grinding against Julian’s face. 

“That’s enough, Ilya,” Asra says, sharp enough for the edge to be audible in his voice, and Julian immediately pulls away. His face is shining in the candlelight, his pupils huge, cheeks flushed, and it looks unimaginably dirty, I think as I catch my breath. But still, there’s an echo of pride underneath the submission, a faint grin etched on his lips at what he’s done to me. Seemingly out of nowhere, Asra produces a flask of water and holds it to my lips, and I drink greedily. I hadn’t even realized how thirsty I was. When I’ve had my fill, Julian gets some as well, and he drinks until it pours down his chin. 

Asra draws Julian off his knees for a kiss, and as my head slowly stops swimming, helps him out of his pants and boots, so my skirt is the only item of clothing remaining worn in the room. They’re both slightly out of breath, chests rising and falling faster than usual, and Julian’s knees are scraped red from the hardwood floor. I could watch them all day, Julian’s hands practically covering the small of Asra’s back, pulling him closer, tan and pale skin intertwining so beautifully. 

“How about a little reward for you?” Asra coos, looking up at Julian from under his eyelashes. “Since you did so good.” His hand goes to Julian’s groin, and almost instantly Julian bites his lip, trying to keep himself quiet. Just looking at this is enough to get me half-ready again, as Julian comes apart under Asra’s careful touch. 

Then Asra reaches around and takes a handful of Julian’s ass, latches onto his neck with tongue and teeth, and the resulting moan is almost enough to cover my reflexive swearing. 

Almost. 

Asra’s head swivels around, heedless of the wet dark bruise blossoming on Julian’s throat, and his eyes darken in a way I’ve never seen them before. If it didn’t go straight through me and make me shudder, I’d be something close to frightened. “What did I say about talking?” he asks, quietly, calmly, still working on Julian, who’s torn between sympathizing with me and being utterly spellbound by Asra. At second glance, he spies my hand halfway up my thigh, the way I’m rubbing my legs together for want of friction, and shakes his head. “And halfway to touching yourself? Twice wasn’t enough for you? But you could barely take it.” 

“I—” I swallow, then manage to get the words out. “I’m sorry, Asra.” I wasn’t expecting the shame that floods through me at the knowledge that I failed. 

Sighing, Asra nods. “Well, I guess you can’t be perfect all the time.” From his vantage point, he surveys the room with a slight frown, stepping back from Julian. “I think... yes, all right, there’s a way for Ilya to be rewarded and for you to be punished. Ilya, pull out that couch.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Julian goes and brings the love seat out from its position wedged in the corner, tripping over his feet. “And take a seat.” When that’s accomplished, he turns back to me, and nods towards Julian. “[MC], across his lap.” 

Asra’s commands are short, but they’re effective, and my feet carry me across the room before my brain catches up to them. Carefully, I climb up and position myself face-down across Julian’s legs, painfully aware of how exposed I am. Julian’s hand rests on the curve of my back, and when I chance a look up at him, he smiles encouragingly. That makes me feel a bit better. 

Crouching beside us, Asra touches my hair again, soft slow motions. “Deep breaths, just like casting. Like I taught you, okay?” Obediently, I inhale, let it last, and then breathe it out, shaky. His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking gentle circles. “I’m not disappointed. Sometimes I set high standards, and well... I don’t expect you to reach them. If you do, that’s worthy of a reward. But if you don’t, a punishment is half the fun, anyway.” His eyes crinkle up at the sides in a familiar way that steals some of the tightness from my chest. “I want you to count these. This isn’t about hurting you; if I wanted to hurt you, you would know, and I wouldn’t use my hand. It’s about getting you to focus. Can you do that for me?” 

“What if I don’t want to?” I ask, more out of curiosity than anything else. 

He pauses. “Don’t want to, or won’t? They’re different. If you don’t want to do this, we can stop anytime either of you like. No questions asked.” 

That’s not what I was trying to say. “I mean if I won’t, then.” 

Now his hand slides deeper into my hair, and it feels still soft and light until he _yanks,_ hard enough to pull my head back slightly. “I’ll say this once. I don’t have patience for willful misbehavior. It’s not the way to rile me up; I won’t suffer brats. All you’ll get is left alone. Not bound up, but forbidden to touch. Until you promise to behave like you said you would.” This voice is sending a dark thrill through me, and from the way Julian’s trembling, he must like it too. Asra’s no sadist at his heart, but right now he sounds cruel in the most tantalizing way. 

“Do you understand?” he asks, slackening his grip the smallest amount. I nod, and he pulls away and out of my field of vision. Absentminded, Julian is still resting his hand on my back, and I focus on that — so when Asra’s first strike comes, it takes me by surprise, forcing a gasp from me. 

“What do you say?” comes Asra’s voice, not quite so darkened, but still authoritative. 

“One.” 

”Good girl.” His touch turns gentle, caressing for a second, over the already-fading sting — then he hits me again. 

“Two,” I grit out, feeling myself jolt forward on Julian’s lap and suddenly understanding how this counts as a reward. 

This time it’s a different hand that soothes my skin; bigger, cooler. Julian’s. Though I try to meet his eye, his other hand flies to my cheek, turns me so I’m facing forward again. The ins and outs of how to behave are familiar to him. 

The next stroke comes a split second quicker than the last, so I’m not tensed up for it, and then another follows it, nearly overlapping the previous one. “Three-four.” As much as I don’t quite understand it, Asra was right. I’m as focused as I’ve ever been, just on the arrhythmic motion and the heat coming to the surface of my skin. 

Behind me, I can hear the movement of skin, Asra winding up, hear the whistle of air as his arm cuts through it — but no impact comes, just a follow-through breeze. For a moment I relax, and as soon as I do, his palm connects, _harder_ this time, with a crack. “F-five,” I stutter, and Julian’s nails dig into my back. 

Beneath this attention, the flow of windup-slap-soothe, I’m starting to squirm. After the twentieth stroke I’ve counted, Julian whispers a question I can’t hear over the roaring in my ears, but Asra’s nod is visible in the shadows on the walls. This time, his touch goes lower, sliding between my legs, and I can feel myself practically melt. 

With a grip on my jaw, Asra brings my face up to his level. “Are you paying attention now? Do you see what happens when you behave?” 

“Yes,” I say. It comes out dreamy, far-away. And finally, finally, Asra lets me go and touches me how I’ve wanted, his fingers replacing Julian’s, lithe and quick and strong. I let my forehead press against the worn fabric of the cushion and breathe out, feel it steam back up on my face. There’s drool dripping down my chin from my open mouth; I’d like to wipe it off but I’m not sure if I’m allowed. 

It’s much, much too soon when he stops, and I whine — embarrassing enough, but I’m too far gone to care. Murmurs pour from Asra’s mouth as he sets me upright, sweet nothings, but I can catch “did so well” and “good girl,” and grin blearily up at him. 

He arranges me so I’m straddling Julian’s legs, then without much ado, guides us till we’re joined, with one hand on my hips and another on Julian’s shoulder, standing over us. “What about you, then?” Julian asks, almost anxious. 

Asra just laughs and reaches out to cup Julian’s face in his hand. He’s fond of that. “Oh, you know me, Ilya. I love my delayed gratification.” On his lips, his smile tips just to that side of mischievous. “You’ve both been so wonderful. Ilya, you waited so nicely, and [MC], you took your punishment like it was a present instead.” I blush down to my collarbone, and Julian hides his face in my heated neck. “I see you took my advice seriously. Good thing. I’d hate to leave either of you wanting when you look so delicious like this.” He opens his arms wide, bracing one against the back of the couch, and for the first time since he arrived tonight, I get a good look at him. Flushed in the most beautiful way, his eyes so dark and full of life, hair haloed around his face like a storm cloud. A shiver of satisfaction hits me. 

“You can go ahead. Do what you’d like. Make as much noise as you want.” As soon as the sentence leaves Asra’s mouth, I start rolling my hips, feel Julian’s fingers tighten on my sides and reach around to grab my ass. A whisper behind me and a rush of heat tells me Asra has taken care of the contraception spell. I move as slow as I can manage, but I know this won’t last forever, even though I might wish it could. Underneath me, I can feel him trembling, pulled so tight with tension, and Asra reaches over my shoulder to trail a hand across Julian’s chest. “Ilya. Relax, all right?” 

Well, I can help with that. Leaning down the slightest bit, I sink my teeth into the juncture of his shoulder and his neck, notice his movements stutter. But he does relax the tiniest bit as he moans, more of a rumble in his chest that I can feel rather than hear. When I pull back, there’s a red circle of tooth-marks, livid on the pale skin, matching the mark Asra gave him earlier. 

Instead of returning it to his side, Asra moves his arm to me, ghosting it down over my breasts and my stomach and returning it between my legs. He’s so solid and grounding, and his breath is hot on the side of my neck, his lips almost touching me. The sound of skin-on-skin is audible and the thought that he’s touching himself because of _us_ only adds to my shortness of breath, my burning fuse. “So lovely,” he whispers, and his eyelashes flutter against my cheek. “I’m so lucky.” 

“Ahh — I— Asra, I’m—“ For all his usual skill with words, Julian all but loses the power of speech when he gets to this point. Feeling inspired, and getting close myself, I lean out of Asra’s embrace and lick a wide stripe up Julian’s throat, over the hickey standing livid almost exactly where his mark used to be. That’s all it takes; as I brush my tongue over the bruise, Julian tumbles over the edge with a shout, his grip digging into my flesh, sensitive from Asra’s ministrations earlier. 

Combined with Asra’s simple one-word command in my ear — “Now.” — it sends me after him, my back arching, sounds escaping my lips with no conscious effort of my own, my body wracked in waves of sensation. A cut-off, half-stifled groan is the only sound Asra makes, but wet warmth hits my back and I know he’s gone too, his breathing slowing behind me. 

My head drops forward onto Julian’s shoulder, hair sticking to the light sheen of sweat on his skin, and the air clears. He makes as if to stroke my back, but meets a mess instead and draws his hand back in a flash, mild disgust and amusement breaking through his sated smile. “ _Asra._ ” 

“I know, I know.” Asra sits on the couch next to Julian with a thump, cleans my back off with a wave of his hand. “There.” He looks almost sleepy, but still so happy as he watches us disentangle ourselves, chin on his hand. My legs are a little unsteady under me, half-asleep from sitting down, and he stands again to wrap an arm around me, offering the other to Julian. Entwined, we make our way upstairs; Asra leads us to the bed immediately. “Lay down, all right? Let me take care of you.” 

Seconds later there’s a warm, wet cloth on my face, then my back. Asra’s magic is in the water, seeping through my pores and into my skin, comforting. When I’m sufficiently scrubbed down, he passes me a cup of water, then gets to work on Julian. I pull the blankets up around me and watch them, the pliancy of Julian’s long limbs, the affection on Asra’s face as he drags the cloth across his legs. It’s so easy to be here with them. 

Looking to me, Julian smiles, and his change in expression causes Asra to glance over as well. “Darling, you look positively delectable.” 

“I feel pretty delectable, honestly,” I admit, stretching out and feeling the soft fabric of the bedspread against my skin. 

Padding over to the larder, Asra makes a noise of appreciation. “Both of you look wonderful. And did wonderfully. I can’t praise you enough.” 

“Oh, I’d be willing to test that theory,” Julian grins. 

A banana flies over to the bed, narrowly missing his stomach, quickly followed by another that hits the pillow next to me. “Don’t push your luck, Ilya,” Asra says as he returns, mischief in his violet eyes. “Both of you, eat, okay?” 

“We’re going to the Raven in an hour. I can get those carbohydrates in liquid form.” Julian leans back against the headboard and opens his arms up to me; I go, pulling the blanket with me. 

“You’re a _doctor._ Why am I the one taking care of _you?_ ” Asra mutters, more to himself than to anyone else, and pinches the bridge of his nose, his expression a blend of fondness and annoyance. “Will you please just eat it? For me?” 

Julian’s face goes red, and he mumbles something indistinguishable under his breath before unwrapping his banana and taking a bite. I’m already a few bites into mine; I still can’t believe the market had them, shipped here all the way from Nevivon. Portia had insisted I get them, and she was right. 

“At least one of you knows how to behave.” Asra crinkles his nose in a grin when Julian looks affronted. “Here, stand up, let me take a look at you.” When I do, he lifts the blanket and runs his hands carefully over my skin. “Do you need me to heal you up?” 

“It barely even hurts anymore. You went easy on me,” I laugh, the adrenaline making me loose and wildly happy. 

“I did exactly what I wanted to. Not hurt you, but get you to focus,” he says, looking out at me with smoky eyes from under his curls. “How about you, Ilya?” 

“As much as I’m fond of this...” Julian brushes the pad of one long finger over the bruise on his throat. “Avoiding the questions would be, ah, optimal.” 

Folding his legs under him, Asra sits next to us and holds his thumb to the mark. It shrinks like the opposite reaction of ink in water until it’s gone, just a smooth expanse of skin again. “Magic touch, hm?” Julian says with a quirk of an eyebrow, and though Asra doesn’t respond, I can see the corner of his mouth steadily inching upwards. “Thank you,” Julian adds. 

“You’re very welcome.” Asra lets his hand trace lightly down Julian’s neck, to his chest, holds it over his heart briefly before pulling it back. “How are you both feeling? Not shaky, not upset?” 

“I’m fine, Asra, I promise.” Catching his arm, I sit down on the bed and pull him back next to me. 

With a muffled _oof_ , he goes, falling all the way back, then leaning up on his elbows, looking out at us and our matching fond smiles from under an errant curl. “What?” he asks, and I can see red rising on his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” I say, and brush a kiss over the top of his shoulder, the suntanned skin across the muscle. I don’t mean for healing Julian. 

Biting his lip, he looks askance at me, taken by surprise. “You’re welcome, my love.” 

I’ll never get over the fact that no matter how long we’ve known each other, he still seems taken aback by casual gestures like that. Even though he made me come three times in the last hour, even though we spent three years waking up entangled in the same bed. It’s so easy to get to him, so lovely to stain his face with his blush just by saying the truth. 

It’s not lost on Julian either, who takes Asra’s arm in his hand and runs his lips all the way down until he reaches his palm, then kisses there, open-mouthed. Asra’s eyes flutter shut. “I wish I’d known this could be so good,” he breathes, voice hitching a little as Julian moves his lips to his wrist. 

“I wish you’d asked us earlier,” I murmur. 

“Well.” Julian lets go of Asra’s arm and settles against the pillows, throwing his arms wide in a sweeping gesture. “Nothing to be done for it except to make up for lost time, hm?” 

Sneaky, I dart under Julian’s left side and lay my head on his chest, then reach out to Asra. Though he looks a little hesitant, unsure if he belongs, he takes my hand and settles on the other side. I reach out to card my hand through his hair and I hear Julian’s heartbeat under my ear, steady and sure. 

* * *

So we end up being late to the Rowdy Raven, but when we do show up, it’s with Asra between us, Faust on his shoulders, a small smile on his face. Portia doesn’t look fazed at all, simply beckons us over and immediately starts questioning Asra about the happenings at the shop today. Mazelinka’s eyebrows shoot towards her forehead, and I catch her nodding at Julian, whose bashful grin in reply makes me hum a little and fish for his hand as we stand at the bar. I loop my arm around Asra’s waist, and Julian places his other hand on the magician’s shoulder. 

We’re connected at those three points, each of us. It’s magically fortuitous, the rule of three and all, but more than that, it feels predestined. Like it was written in the cards all along. The Magician, the Fool, and the Hanged Man, in a triangular formation, laid out over and over no matter how many times I turn the deck over in my mind. Not past, present, and future, exactly, but all three coming together in a single line, threaded through what I’ve built of my life, and moving onwards towards the future. And I don’t need to look at the Arcana to know that I should follow where it leads.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked reading this! if you did, please consider leaving me a comment or a kudo -- i spend an awful lot of time on these fics and it's always really incredible to hear from people who enjoy them :,)
> 
> i have an arcana blog now (for those who are keeping track, that's four, count 'em four, blogs) which can be found at [@vsuvia](http://vsuvia.tumblr.com), so if you want to come over there and shout about this dumb game with me, please feel free! i also take writing requests if you wanna throw some my way.


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